Soul Sick
by Drawberry
Summary: A brief look at the man's past, and what it's like when your soul is sick.Rated for future chapters


Soul Sick

Yes, my retro fluff bunnies have attacked! Wtf with that? I know he called her 'Babes' and 'Lyds' in the cartoon. But it didn't feel right for me in this fic so far, get over it. Yes I made his first name Matthew and last Betelgeuse(like the star) and yes he was indeed in the Mafia with Capone. Why? It felt RIGHT. He just walks, and talks and acts like the kinda Al Capone follower of the past. I like him this way, and if you don't. Get over it. COOKIES FOR ALL. Blah.

It was so dark, rainy and grey outside the window. When it rained in the Neitherworld, it poured. Like the clouds themselves where weeping. In the far room, down the creaky hallway behind the purple painted door he was sleeping draped across a large chair that was more of a throne in size.

Made of deep purple velvet and wood pained with gold now peeling and worn away, coming to a high arch at the chairs back with the broken design of a Raven perched on top the throne. His legs dangled over the left arm of the chair, his head leaned back over the right arm. One arm draped across his eye's as if blocking out the world in his attempt at sleep and peace, wheat colored hair tangled about falling down like a wave.

The man's blazer jacket was hanging on the corner coat rack along with his tie more lazily thrown and wrapped around it's legs. Leaving him in just a black buttoned suit shirt and rather tacky slacks that looked as if he'd sat on a wet painted park bench, giving it awkward stripes.

"Beej?"

Lydia stared into the room feeling..rather awkward. Unsure if she should leave him to himself, or stay and wait for him. After a moment she turned to leave.

"Come on Darlin' don't leave me so soon"

His voice always sounded raspy, but deep and lovely.

She perked up and rushed over stopping before the throne. "Are you Okay Beej?"

"I am sick Darlin'"

"Sick..but..your dead you can't get sick"

"I have a soul don't I?"

"So..your soul sick?"

"Real soul sick.."

Lydia frowned and tilted her head clearly puzzled. She was still wearing her school uniform, her hair strait past her ears and very simple, as was a private schools protocol. It was very odd, for her at least, to see him so...desperately venerable...

Finally his arm moved and he sat up opening his eye's."Darlin' do you know how cute that little get up is?"

"Beej!"Her face went bright red and her arms where quickly crossed in embarrassment rather then annoyance.

"I've got some things to clean out in the attic, wanna help"He grinned, knowing she could not turn down the opportunity to see very..VERY old objects and perhaps get a gift of one.

* * *

Sure he was sick, real sick as he put it. But Lydia was there, and she was like a pill. But perhaps to addictive..

The attic was perhaps the cleanest room in his home. If not the dustiest, filled with old trunks and piles and piles of new's paper's dating back to Al Capone and tales of gangs in New York.

"Beej what is all this.."The child picked up a yellowing new's paper off the top of a pile, oddly enough(or not depending on ones sense of odd) it showed a photograph of Beej, younger and clearly alive with his blonde hair slicked back into a ponytail as he brandished a Tommy Gun. The headline read: ' Matthew Betelgeuse and Al Capone: Bringing the Mafia to our city'

He rubbed the back of his neck"Yeah didn't get to popular with that..but being in a business with Al wasn't based on being liked"

"AL CAPONE!?"She sat down reading over more "..And...Matthew? Your name is..Matthew?"

"Well of course Darlin' it say's so don't it? And Yeah Al Capone."

"So you where in the Mafia?"She settled down comfortably as if ready to be told a story.

Matthew grinned, and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "Of course Darlin' Drug trafficking, assignations, prostitution rings" He counted the offences off on his fingers. "All sorts of stuff"

Lydia seemed absolutely enthralled by it all. "Is he really under Yankee Stadium!"

Smirking he nodded. "Guess who put him there.."

"..You didn't.."

"I did"

Her brown eyes widened "Whoa...But..What happened to you?"

"Got the chair"He grumbled and looked very upset about it.

"Did it hurt..."

"Like a bitch" There was an obvious tone of bitterness. "When one get's the chair, Darlin' they're suppose to have a wet sponge for your noggin' so you don't feel it fryin' yea. My guy never told them the water bucket was empty.."

"Matthew that's horrible.."

"That's how people treat you in the Mafia Darlin'"

* * *

No matter how long they spent in the attic cleaning it out of the thing's he was tossing away(it did get to full and even HE had to admit that) his soul was still sick, real sick.

Matthew felt tired...genuinely tired..

"..Are you okay?" Lydia touched his arm looking up at the man frowning.

"Well Little Lady, I am feeling rather spent..."

"I am gonna go.."

"Don't you go anywhere"He chuckled, low and deep in his throat making her stomach shiver at the beautiful sound.

He lifted her up and lay back in his chair still clutching the girl to his chest. He needed the warmth, to feel the beating of a heart against his own lifeless one.

When ones soul is sick, it's like a deep void. Something missing within yourself that no matter how hard you to try to fill it, to explain it and fix it. You cannot. It is up to someone else to help you fill the void, to help heal the soul. It is up to the other to return the love of which causes so many to feel deep aching within them. The aching of a soul that is sick.


End file.
